


When I Come Marching Home

by ama



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Characters Who Are Fine With Being Queer Even In The Pre-Stonewall Era, F/M, Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nightmares, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2130408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuckler is haunted by nightmares of the war and by other fears, things he can't talk about. Luckily he has great friends, a loving family--and Runner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Come Marching Home

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Plain Sailing Weather by Frank Turner like twenty times in a row and then this happened. Also, for those confused by Mrs. Juergen's attitude, I highly recommend googling gay culture in Berlin in the early 20th century. It's pretty awesome.

“Call me,” Runner says when he leaves the hospital. He leans forward in his chair and takes hold of Chuckler’s shoulder. His eyebrows are drawn together fiercely and his eyes search the face before him with single-minded intensity. “You hear me? If you need _anything_ , conversation, money, advice, company, anything, call me. Or Hoosier or Lucky. You took care of us over there and we’re going to take care of you over here. Okay?”

Chuckler smiles weakly. It’s an ugly, pale version of his former grin. He is thinner even than he was on Guadalcanal, and there are bags under his eyes. At least he’s still trying to smile, though—that must be good. He lifts his arm and pats Runner’s shoulder in return.

“You got it, cobber.”

“Okay. Good.” He lingers for another moment and then looks at the clock and stands. “I’ve got to make my train. See you around, Lew.”

As soon as he leaves, Chuckler looks the other way and falls asleep. He’s decided, even before his head hits the pillow, that he won’t call. Not for that. He’ll call to shoot the shit, yeah, but he’s been taking care of people all his life and he’s good at that. He’s _not_ good at being taken care of. He doesn’t like it. It makes him feel useless, and then he snaps and angers the person looking out for him, and then he feels guilty and they feel bad and it’s uncomfortable for everyone. He’ll deal with his problems by himself.

He dreams of a rocking stretcher beneath him, a rocking ship, the boats bursting into flame, blood and fire raining down his face, Will-Bob-Bill walking away from him. He dreams and cries and is woken by a nurse. There is pity in her face, but in the abruptness of her movement he senses exasperation; he has screamed and sobbed in his sleep every night since he arrived. He should be over this by now.

The nightmares keep coming, months after he arrives home. He moves out of his mother’s apartment, because he keeps waking her and his sisters. His ma is worried about him—he, her eldest, her little man who has never caused her worry in his life. He’s ashamed to see the lines around her eyes, so when she asks him what’s wrong he says don’t worry about it, I’ve got it under control. He kisses her and flashes a smile that reassures her. (Some things have improved. He has gained weight, and his smile has warmth in it now, most of the time.) Ava pesters him, suggesting a thousand things that might (but probably won’t) help. Cora is quiet and supportive and wonderful. But he moves out, because he’s been home for four and a half months and he doesn’t want to wake them anymore.

In his first week in his new apartment, he screams so loud he wakes himself up. This is rare. He is lying flat on his back, coated in sweat, breathing heavily with tears in his eyes, and he doesn’t know what to do. What _should_ he do? Should he roll onto his side, try to sleep again? Get up and pace? Get up and start packing his lunch for work? Cry?

He doesn’t want to do any of these things, and a voice in his head keeps saying “call me” over and over again, firmly, so he stumbles to his living room and picks up the phone. He dials Runner’s number and waits, half-hoping that is too late for Will to pick up.

“Hello?”

He sinks down onto the couch. He pulls his legs up and runs a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky sigh.

“Hi.”

“Chuckler?”

“Yeah. How’re you doing?” His voice sounds normal, to his own ears, and he thinks he must sound okay enough because Runner isn’t really concerned. Or at least, no more than he should be at receiving a call this late. It’s probably about two in the morning, give or take an hour.

“I’m all right. How about you?”

“Liar,” Chuckler says fondly, ignoring the question. “I just woke you up in the middle of the night and you probably have work tomorrow. I bet you’re exhausted and pissed off.”

“Well, I’m in a different time zone, Chuck. New York’s further ahead than you are; hell, it’s just about time for breakfast.”

He looks down and laughs. The sweat on his back is cooling, so Chuckler draws his limbs together tighter to keep from shivering and cradles the phone beside his ear. They talk for almost an hour, about Chicago and Buffalo and their families and everything except the reason why Chuckler called, and then Runner admits that he actually would like to go back asleep. Chuckler decides he doesn’t want to move, so he sleeps on the couch and wakes up three hours later with a crick in his neck.

It becomes a habit. He feels bad, at first, about waking Runner up, but his friend is always understanding, always patient. Besides, he admits one night, he’s often up anyway.

“I don’t exactly have nightmares,” he says. “Not regular ones, anyway. I just can’t fall asleep sometimes. I’m lying in bed and I work myself up and can’t come down. I’ve got a lock on my bedroom door and two on the outside one.”

“That’s normal, though,” Chuckler says in a soothing voice, and is caught off guard when Runner says “Yeah, and so are you.”

A few weeks later, Leckie and Hoosier persuade him to talk to a doctor—Leckie by empathizing, and admitting his own trouble with nightmares, and Hoosier by telling him in no uncertain terms that he’s being an idiot. So Chuckler gets a prescription for sleeping pills, but he can’t take them too often or they become less effective. So he starts on this odd cycle: drugs for a few weeks, late night calls to Runner for a few weeks, stoic isolation for as long as he can bear (usually only a few days). Nothing chases away the nightmares entirely, and if he’s not taking drugs than he wakes up at least one in five nights. But, oddly, he finds those nights bearable, much more so than he did in the hospital.

The months go by and he finds that he can talk to Runner about anything. Benign things, like news about the old guys from their company, or if he’s been to a ball game recently (Will loves sports, so the answer is always yes). And personal things, like how Chuckler gets along with his sisters, or what Runner’s day at work was like. And terrifying things. Chuckler won’t tell him about the nightmares, because he doesn’t want those images bouncing around in his friend’s head, but he can talk about how they make him feel—shaky and powerless and pathetic. Runner tells him about how he worries that people don’t like him, that he’s letting people down. It’s stupid because Chuckler thinks Runner might be the most likable person he knows, but there it is.

“Why do you do this?” he asks one night.

“Because you’re my friend.”

“So?”

“So... I know you’d do the same for me. And—and even if you didn’t, I admire you. I think you’re a good man. Brave, kind, smart. You deserve help.”

He clutches the phone tighter and whispers “Thanks.”

Then, one night a year after the war is over, Chuckler wakes up—in the morning—and realizes that he hasn’t had a nightmare for a week. He doesn’t think they’re gone for good, but a week is a nice milestone, he thinks. He can live with that. He calls Leckie that morning, because he’s in a good mood and he wants to hear about the wedding plans. He feels like he knows Vera already—it’s a miracle he can stand to sit by the phone and listen to another half an hour’s stories about her—but he can’t wait to actually meet her. He’s going to be a groomsman in the wedding. Hoosier won the coin toss, so he gets to be the best man.

“But enough about that,” Leckie says after a while. “Who’s next?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Chuckler laughs.

But he thinks about it a few times that day. He hasn’t felt any urge to date recently, which is somewhat strange, but he’s put it down to stress. He enjoys being around women again—his relatives and his friends—and he’s always assumed he will get married at some point in the future. When he has a stable job, when he’s taken care of his mother, and when the nightmares stop. Hoosier is working the night shifts now, so Chuckler doesn’t call, but after dinner he writes him a letter and sets it aside to post that morning. He thinks about writing Runner, too, but he’s tired and decides it can wait until the morning.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. He wakes up at midnight when Leckie snarls “turkey shoot” in his ear, and he dials Runner’s number automatically.

“You’ve reached Bud’s Big-Mouth Burgers, serving the best burgers to all the big mouths in Buffalo,” a groggy voice says. “How can I help you?”

“Did you practice that?” Chuckler laughs.

“I’ve got a whole list. What’d you think?”

“Too much alliteration.”

Runner laughs in the back of his throat and it’s such a low, soothing sound that Chuckler finds his heart rate slow. He curls up on the couch and rests his head on a pillow. The nightmares are already fading, so he asks about Runner’s niece, who is only five years old. Stories of her are always so cheerful that they chase away the darkness quicker than anything else. Runner tells him about Kate’s newfound love for worms, caterpillars, butterflies, moths and all the other creepy-crawly things, and then Chuckler tells him about the call he made to Leckie earlier. About the wedding plans, and Leckie’s prediction that one of them will soon follow.

“You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”

“Me, no.”

“So the wedding bells aren’t ringing yet,” Chuckler says teasingly, and he hears a long exhale from the other side of the line.

“Yeah... I’m not sure if they ever will.”

“Aw, come on, Runner, just because you’re not Leckie’s type doesn’t mean some gal won’t find you handsome. Eventually.”

He pauses, waiting for a laugh, but there is none. Instead, when Runner speaks, he sounds anxious.

“Lew. Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s—it’s something I don’t usually talk about. I don’t think it’s something most people would understand—hell, I don’t really understand, and I don’t want to scare you away—”

“Bud,” he says sharply. And then, softly: “It’s me. Okay? I’m right here. So tell me whatever you want.”

He hears Runner take a deep breath.

“I don’t think I’m going to get married because I’m not interested in women. I’m a— a homosexual. I think it would be like lying. And I feel like I’ve been lying to you, and I hate that, so—so I’m sorry. Christ, I don’t know why I’m doing this now, it’s just been on my mind for a while and—I’m sorry.”

Chuckler is silent. He bites his thumbnail and thinks of the time when he was sixteen and went on his first date with Evelyn Farber, and how afterwards he went to his friend Kenny’s house and told him all about it. How he had nervously put his hand on her knee and she had said she thought they were better off friends, and kissed his cheek—and then, seeing his disappointment, on the lips. Kenny complained that Lew had always been the lucky one and expressed his worry that by the time he finally got to kiss a girl, he wouldn't even know how.

He misinterpreted the wistfulness on his friends face. It was a stupid, stupid thing to do, but on impulse Lew had decided that the best thing to do would be to kiss Kenny himself. And then Kenny was screaming in his face and hitting him and all Chuckler could do was leave.

He holds the phone tightly in his sweaty hand and tries to think of what to say. Nothing comes to mind so he puts the phone down on the arm rest and fetches a packet of smokes and a box of matches from his jacket pocket. He lights a cigarette and picks the phone back up just in time to hear the voice on the other line speak again.

“Lew?”

“Yeah, Runner, I’m here,” he says, blowing out smoke.

“Are you—fuck. Are you mad?”

“No. Jesus, no, I’m not. You’re my friend. And—you’re a brave man, Runner. You know that? Braver than anyone I know.”

 _Braver than me_.

“Thank you,” Runner says, and he sounds like he means it.

“What the fuck else was I supposed to say, huh? We’re sitting here on the phone in the middle of the night because I’m having nightmares like a child and you... how can I not admire you? How can I let your...” Here he laughs, “ _marital status_ change that? I trusted you with my _life_ over there.”

He’s babbling. He’s throwing out every reason for his attitude that he can think of, except ‘I know how you feel’, but Runner doesn’t seem to notice because he just says thank you again and again. He changes the subject, starts talking about a conversation he had with Hoosier the other day, and Chuckler is grateful for it.

Ten minutes later he hangs up the phone and sits there, staring at it. There is one cigarette stub that has already burned a black mark onto the end table, and he lights another one as he drifts, lost in thought. He only saw Kenny once after that night. He heard rumors around the neighborhood that Kenny was talking about him, _hinting_ at things, so he confronted him. Shoved him against a wall and told him that if he breathed _one word_ , Chuckler would tell everyone that it had been his idea. Luckily Chuckler had always been tall for his age and Kenny hadn’t had his growth spurt then. He hadn’t yet worked out how to look menacing, but he towered over his former friend and that made the threat seem legitimate. He had gone home and just about cried his eyes out afterward.

“Fuck,” Chuckler mutters as he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. He wants to be with Runner—to physically be there, so that he can take him by the shoulders and look at him, so Runner can see there is no revulsion in his face. He wants to cradle him close and reassure him that everything will be okay.

He is terrified.

But he usually calls Runner when he’s terrified, and now there is nothing to do but smoke and think and, eventually, sleep.

And then two weeks later he is taking a train to New Jersey with a new haircut and a clean suit in his bag, along with a bottle of whiskey. Leckie is getting married. Chuckler is the last one to get to New Jersey, so when he presses his face against the train window, eagerly hoping to get an early glimpse of the friend he hasn’t seen since Peleliu, he finds the whole crowd waiting for him—Runner and Hoosier and Lucky, all hanging on each other and jostling for space with cigarettes clamped between their teeth. They look so unlike the men he went to war with. They look like the three lighthearted boys they were back in the boondocks, and Chuckler is so delighted to see them that he leaps off the train and crashes into all three at once.

“I missed you crazy bastards,” he laughs as they complain, shout, hoot, hug him back, try to shove him off.

“Missed you too,” Runner says while Hoosier says “Yeah right” while Leckie says “Here, have a smoke” and they all reach to take his bag as they leave the station and pile into Leckie’s car.

Leckie has bought a house, so that’s where they’re staying, and that’s where Chuckler meets Vera for the first time. She’s waiting in the living room for them, and as she stands and smiles Chuckler thinks that maybe, just maybe, all Leckie’s blabbing about her has been accurate. It’s a hell of a smile and her eyes are friendly as she steps forward and takes his hand in both of hers.

“It’s so good to meet you, finally,” she says and it actually sounds like she means it. “Bob’s told me all about you.”

“Did he tell you how handsome I am?” Chuckler asks with a grin. “I told him to.”

“You’re uninvited,” Leckie says when Vera laughs, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. He looks happy and in love and Chuckler thinks _this is actually possible_.

The wedding is in two days; tomorrow night they have to be respectable, because it wouldn’t do to show up in church with a hangover, but tonight they go out, get dinner, and get drunk. It’s like Melbourne, it’s like Parris Island, it’s like Guadalcanal and Gloucester and Pavuvu. It’s _easy_. Chuckler realizes ashamedly that he has half-thought he might have imagined the ease of friendship between them. Maybe he’s built it up in his mind, maybe it’s something that can only exist in wartime, maybe they’ve all changed too much.

But all of his worries are allayed when, halfway through the night, Hoosier grabs him by the shirt collar and says “Listen, you sonuvabitch. We live less than five goddamn hours apart. You’ve gotta come visit me, you hear? No more fucking excuses.”

“No excuses, no excuses,” Chuckler says, holding up his hands. “Just a question: why the fuck would I ever want to set foot in Indiana?”

Runner and Leckie roar with laughter and Hoosier kind of wheezes and puts him in a halfhearted headlock and here, in the midst of all these happy sounds, Chuckler feels at peace.

They stumble back to Leckie’s house and all four of them collapse in the living room—thankfully free of Vera—and sleep there. Runner takes the couch, Hoosier an armchair, and Chuckler steals a pillow from the couch and sleeps on the floor, Leckie curled up next to him. It is a peaceful night; if any of them have nightmares, it does not wake them up, and they do not mention it in the morning.

The day after that is mostly chaos, and the day after that is the wedding. The ceremony takes place at St. Mary’s, and it’s quite crowded. Leckie doesn’t seem to know half the people, but his parents have invited just about the whole town as a matter of propriety, and plenty of them have showed up. Vera looks stunning in a long-trained gown, and Leckie is handsome in his dress blues. The other marines catch a few admiring looks, too, but they are too busy trying to snicker at the memory of a joke that, according to Leckie, hasn’t been funny since 1942.

The reception is held at a social hall two blocks away. It starts at five o’clock and it quickly becomes apparent that it will last for most of the night. Vera and Leckie are excellent hosts, the life of the party. They make jokes and smile at everyone and make toasts and have scintillating conversations, as well as being disgustingly obviously stupidly in love. Chuckler marvels at the performance and does his best to replicate some of their energy. He dances with several pretty girls and has a long conversation with Leckie’s father, who is the most boring man he has ever met. At some point, Hoosier makes a best man speech that leaves everyone who doesn’t know him utterly bemused. It makes Leckie cry and Runner sniffle. Chuckler follows that up with a small speech that has a broader appeal, and then Vera’s maid of honor makes a toast to the happy couple.

At ten o’clock, Chuckler decides that he needs a break. He goes outside the hall and around to the back, away from the windows, and lights a cigarette. It’s October and the nights are just starting to take on the sting of autumn. Idly he thinks of apple crisp and then he’s got the Andrews Sisters playing in his head. He smiles and starts to croon a low song, blowing smoke into the air.

 _Don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me_  
_Anyone else but me, anyone else but me_  
_No, no, no, don’t sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me  
_ _Till I come marching home..._

He jumps and swallows the last few words when a voice joins his—deeper and off-pitch. And then he shakes his head with a laugh because it’s Runner, of course it is.

“Well, New Jersey’s close enough to home, ain’t it?” Runner says with a grin.

“Yeah and you still can’t sing for shit.”

Runner smiles, and he has a wonderful smile, and Chuckler’s breath catches in his lungs. He swallows thickly and looks up at the stars.

“Were you looking for me?” he asks as casually as he can.

“Not really. You know who was, though—Pam.”

“Who?”

“Maid of honor. Apparently you promised her a dance.”

“Oh. Right.” Champagne has loosened his tongue so he grins and says “And you? Any devilishly handsome guys back there waiting to sweep you away?”

Runner’s eyes widen and he looks away sheepishly.

“No.”

“Well, can’t say I’m surprised. I’m the only devilishly handsome guy I’ve seen all night.”

He pauses after he says that, because it feels like he’s just stepped over some kind of line, and blows out a puff of smoke. Runner leans against the wall beside him and stares down at the ground. They’re standing mostly in the dark, except for the faint touch of the streetlights, and it feels comfortable and safe.

So he reaches out.

It’s stupid. It’s the stupidest fucking thing he’s ever done, but he reaches out his hand, fingertips trembling at the thought of actually touching him. Just before he is about to make contact Runner turns his head and looks at him, and Chuckler freezes. His heart is hammering. He can’t pretend he wasn’t about to touch his fingers to the soft skin of his friend’s cheek but he also can’t force himself to complete the motion. He lets his hand fall.

“Lew...”

Runner bites his bottom lip and steps closer. He tilts his head up and Chuckler thinks it would be so easy to kiss him, so easy to bend his head down and touch their lips together. It’s always been easy to be with Runner and this could be, too. His hand reaches out again and this time he actually makes contact. He cups Runner’s chin and sees a little flash of white as he smiles.

But then Chuckler stumbles back, thinking no and saying “I can’t.”

Runner opens his eyes (when did he close them? it’s hard to remember), and he’s still smiling but anxiously now.

“Can’t what?” he asks.

“I can’t—do this. I’m sorry, but I can’t fuck this up. I—”

“Lew, relax. It’s me. Just me.”

“I know,” he says, and he sags against the wall and sits down. Runner crouches beside him. “It’s you, and you’re my friend, and—this is a bad idea, Bud. It’s going to fuck everything up.”

Inside, the music is still playing. They can hear people talking, the scrape of chairs on the ground, and feet tapping on the dance floor. Runner lets out a deep breath.

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

“Is this because I’m...” he starts to ask, and then he must decide he can’t bear to say it because he changes course. “If it changes anything, I’ve been in love with you for years.”

His heart lurches. His hands ache to touch Runner again, so he holds his own hand tightly, realizing only now that his fingers are cold. And some part of him thinks _Good. So he’s used to this_.

“I’m not that man anymore.”

“Neither am I. Chuckler—”

“Don’t.” He pats Runner’s knee and tries to smile. To his relief, his voice sounds steady, almost normal. “Go back to the party, okay? Put it out of your mind. And then... you’ll be going home in a day or two, and you can find somebody who you can introduce to your family, make a life with, be happy with. Someone who can sleep through the night. And everything will be normal again.”

Runner stands up.

“Are you asking me to go home and be straight?” he asks bluntly.

“Maybe,” Chuckler admits, which is more honest than he should have been. Runner looks hurt. His jaw works for a moment and he licks his lips, and then he nods.

“But we’re still friends.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Okay.”

Runner goes back into the hall. Chuckler thinks about moving, but he also thinks that that’s a stupid idea, because he can’t go inside and pretend that this didn’t just happen—and in any case he doesn’t want to hurt Runner even more by pretending that he hasn’t been affected by this, that it hasn’t torn him up inside. He puts his head in his hands and breathes deeply.

After a few minutes, he returns to the warmth and light of the hall. Pam the maid of honor approaches him and tries to claim her dance but he turns her down gently, feigning tiredness. She looks disappointed, so he scans the crowd for dress blues—thank god Hoosier is closest—and shoves her gently in that direction instead. Then he seeks out Leckie’s father and starts another conversation, because it seems like the best way to appear busy with someone who won’t notice any change in his manner. He is listening with half an ear to some kind of monologue about television, or radio, or maybe cars—something with tubes—when Hoosier appears at his elbow and says, rather sternly, “I need to talk to you.”

There is a short entrance way separated from the main hall by a door, and an alcove stuffed with coats. Hoosier leads Chuckler through the hallway and pushes him in amongst the coats, and demands “What did you say to Runner?”

Chuckler is taken aback.

“I—what did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me a damn thing, that’s how I know it’s _your_ fault. But he’s moping around like anything. What did you do?”

He bites his tongue nervously. He wants to let everything spill out; he wants confirmation that he has done the right thing. But then he shakes his head.

“If he won’t say anything, I can’t either.”

“Well go _fix_ it!”

“I would if I could, Bill, Jesus,” Chuckler snaps. “But there’s nothing I can do, okay? Anything I said right now would just make it worse. He needs—time. That’s all. Time and he’ll get over it.”

Hoosier stares at him for a long moment. It’s uncomfortable, especially because the reproach in his face seems to be tinged with pity.

“Chuckler, if you think that boy has ever _gotten over_ one goddamn thing you’ve ever said, then you’re a fucking idiot.”

Chuckler doesn’t know what his face looks like, but it must be really fucking pathetic because Hoosier sighs and pulls him into a long hug before he leaves. But the rest of the wedding is—fine. Fine. Leckie, fortunately, was too wrapped up in Vera to notice anything wrong, and when Chuckler next sees Runner, Hoosier is ready to be a comfortable buffer between them. They talk about meaningless things and toast the Leckies for the fiftieth time.

The next day, Lucky and Vera are off taking a train to a little cabin in Maine for their honeymoon. There is a small crowd to wave them off—just the three Marines, the elder Mrs. Leckie, and Bob’s favorite sister and her husband. It’s a bit sad to see them go, Chuckler thinks, so soon after they met, so he shakes Leckie’s hand enthusiastically and kisses Vera on the cheek, and waves until the train is out of sight. His train is the next scheduled to leave. He hugs Runner and Hoosier tightly before he leaves; he’s going to miss them.

He takes the train to Chicago and then, exhausted, decides to go to his mother’s apartment instead of his own. The apartment is empty when he arrives, so he puts his stuff down in the living room and starts cooking. He’s not a particularly good cook, but he is very good at following directions and he manages to find some recipes tucked away in the kitchen. By the time his mother gets home, he’s finished an apple pie, a pot of chicken soup, and several slices of burned toast. She beams and stands on her tiptoes to give him a kiss (he and both of his sisters tower over her), and Chuckler helps himself to third portions at dinner with a feeling of immense satisfaction.

Still, she is his mother. She knows him better than anyone at the Leckie-Keller wedding, and the moment he starts in on his third slice of pie she says “Now tell me what is wrong.”

“Mom,” he complains.

“Tell,” she orders, and Chuckler moodily chews an apple slice and thinks about how much he can actually tell her.

“What if I never get married, Ma?” he says finally.

“You will,” she says with a shrug. She sips from her coffee and pats his hand.

“What if I don’t?”

“But you _will_. Listen to me, Bärchen—there are some kinds of people who do not get married. They do not get lonely the same way others do. Take your sister Cora; someone tells her she should be more charming around her men friends and she asks why. But you, you love people, and you make people fall in love with you too. Your friend beat you to it, but don’t worry. Your day will come.”

Chuckler finishes his pie and admits in a light, cheerful voice that he’s terrified, and his mother only smiles softly at him. He feels a little ridiculous at that, complaining about love problems to this incredible woman who held her head high when her husband left and returned and left and returned and then left again. But at the same time her steady smile and the touch of her hand on his is reassuring. He feels like he can breathe again. After a few minutes of silence, she prompts him with a raised eyebrow.

“Mom...”

“What’s her name, Lew?”

His smile twists into something else.

“Wilbur.”

His mother’s forehead creases for a moment in puzzlement, and then smoothes out. She rubs her thumb over the top of his, and then takes his hand in both of hers.

“My poor darling boy. I should have raised you in Berlin.”

Now it is his turn to look at her with a confused frown. Their eyes meet for a moment and then he starts to laugh. He can’t help it; it is 1946 and this is the funniest thing his mother has ever said, and she starts laughing too and they collapse in a helpless fit of hysteria at the kitchen table.

That night he has a normal dream. Runner is marrying Pam the maid of honor in Mrs. Juergen’s apartment, and Chuckler dances with Hoosier at the reception while Leckie and Vera sing _Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tre_ e. He wakes up surprisingly well rested, and goes back to his own apartment that day. For some reason, he doesn’t expect things to go back to normal as easily as they. Being in love should change something, he thinks. It should make him—happier. Or more miserable. People should look at him differently. But really, nothing changes. He goes to work—he has an apprenticeship that takes him all around the city, so he’s bought a car, which he’s never had before. Once or twice a week he meets up with coworkers or friends for dinner, drinks, sometimes pickup football games in the park, or a Bears game if they’re lucky. Every Sunday night he has dinner with his mother and his sisters, and he keeps in semi-regular contact with the other marines.

At first he avoids talking to Runner because he thinks it might be awkward—or worse, painful. The nightmares have subsided a bit, anyway, as it gets colder. He only has one in the first two and a half weeks he’s home, and that’s not worth a call. He gets over this worry without even noticing it; he’s at a bar with his friends one night, and they’re arguing, and all of a sudden he’s leaning over the bar to use the phone and dialing Runner’s number. The bartender and his friends are laughing at him, but he’s determined.

“Runner, hi, listen—what was that lager we had in Australia? The good one.”

“What?” Runner says, nonplussed.

“Something bitter. It has a bird name, and my idiot friend Mike thinks it’s Eagle. I know he’s wrong but I can’t remember what’s right.”

“It’s E _mu_ ,” Runner corrects with a laugh, and Chuckler grins.

“Thanks,” he says as he drops the phone, and just like that everything is back to normal.

More often than before, though, he finds himself staring off into the distance and thinking about the day he kissed Kenny. He shivers, thinking about what an idiot he was, how much he risked. And over what? A rather whiny boy with a red face and lank mousy hair, who abandoned him at the drop of the hat. He decides that that was the stupidest thing he’s ever done, including any stunts he and the boys pulled, and then he thinks of Runner, who is probably worth the risk. Then he thinks of his parents and the disaster their relationship was, and Ava’s first fiancé, who was one of her friends in high school and whom she no longer speaks to, and his stomach hurts and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, my mom wants to know your address,” Runner says one night as Christmas draws near. “She’s going to send you cookies.”

“She doesn’t have to do that,” he protests, and he can almost hear the shrug in Runner’s voice.

“You tell her that, see what good it does you. I told her you guys liked them when she sent them to Guadalcanal, and then she heard that you and Hoosier were still single so she thinks you’re probably starving orphans, too.”

“That’s sweet,” he says. “Your mother’s a lot like you, huh?” he adds thoughtfully, thinking of Runner trying to divide a candy bar amongst ten men.

“I don’t know,” Runner says, and he sounds embarrassed. Chuckler smiles to himself and plays with the telephone cord.

The next time he sees any of the boys in person is Christmas Eve. Leckie and Vera are in town, because Leckie’s youngest sister, the one closest to him in age, has just moved to Chicago with her husband. The new couple is planning on staying with them from Christmas morning until New Year’s, but Chuckler manages to persuade them to have Christmas Eve dinner with his family—him, his mother, Ava and her fiancé, and Cora.

It goes well. They arrive at 4:30 to help with the cooking, and somehow his mother finds jobs for all seven of them to help even in their small kitchen. Ava’s fiancé, while kind, is rather dull, so Chuckler is relieved to have another man to talk to. He and Lucky are assigned the string beans—snapping off the ends, washing them, and broiling them on the stove—and they spend so much time joking with each other, elbowing each other, and throwing the snapped-off ends at people, that eventually Vera comes over and separates them.

“ _Boys_ ,” she says with a laugh, and Cora and Ava pat her arm sympathetically.

But eventually the food is finished and placed in its proper dishes, and they all sit down to eat. Ava and Vera are a lot alike, so they got along right away; Cora is the middle child, and doesn’t really have her siblings’ flair for people, but she’s smart, the smartest of all of them, and she and Leckie start talking about literature halfway through the meal and seem to enjoy themselves very much. Chuckler sees his mother beaming and decides that he should bring people over more often. It’s hard for her, having one child out of the house and another about to go. She only has a handful of friends in the neighborhood—German immigrants have not been very popular, these past few years—and she is a natural born hostess.

He’ll make Hoosier leave Indiana, he thinks with a grin. And Runner… but he’s not sure he wants her to meet Runner.

The thought dampens his mood a little bit, so he’s grateful when they finish dinner and move to the living room, which is small but cozy, for egg nog and cake. He takes six of Mrs. Conley’s cookies from the tin that had arrived the day before and passes the rest around. Then Leckie says “Oh, I almost forgot,” and digs around in his bag for a tattered Superman comic book, which he deposits in Chuckler’s hands with a grin and a “Merry Christmas.”

Chuckler laughs to see that it’s the exact same book Leckie gave him on Pavuvu—then he checks the inside flap and looks up in disbelief, because his name is penciled in in the upper left hand corner.

“You stole this out of my sea bag.”

“Just before Peleliu,” Leckie confirms with an _entirely_ unrepentant grin. “I needed something to read on the way back.”

His mother is present, so Chuckler can’t say any of the usual things he would say on this occasion, but he stalks to the kitchen, digs around for a can of preserved peaches, and chucks it at Leckie’s head.

Vera shakes her head and says _boys_ again, and they all sit around singing Christmas carols until nearly ten o’clock, when Vera and Leckie express interest in attending a late-night mass. The rest of them go to All Saints, and the main service isn’t until the morning, but Chuckler offers to walk them to St. Mary’s on the Lake. They say good-bye, and get bundled up, and set out through the cold streets of Chicago. They arrive at the church too early for mass, but Vera goes inside anyway because it’s cold. Leckie and Chuckler stay outside to have a smoke and to catch up without an audience.

“Christmas is strange,” Leckie says as he blows out spoke and stares at the spire of the church. “It was like this last year, too. You look around and say Merry Christmas, God bless you, how the hell am I still alive?”

“Yeah. And Christ, you’re actually _married to Vera Keller_. Who the fuck would have predicted that?” Chuckler laughs, elbowing him in the ribs, and Leckie grins.

“They don’t call me Lucky for nothing, huh? Oh, and by the way, we’re not heading home until Thursday, so you owe me a beer or seven sometime this week. And you’re invited to my sister’s place for New Year’s.”

“Am I?”

“‘Course you are, I just invited you.”

“Thanks, Peaches,” Chuckler says, patting him on the shoulder, and then he yawns and feels a jolt of worry course through him. He’s worried. It’s been a month and two days since his last screaming nightmare, but for the past few days there has been unpleasantness creeping along the edges of his subconscious. Scattered machine-gun fire echoing in the background. The smell of sweat and gunpowder lingering under his nose when he awakes. An otherwise pleasant dream that ends in a splatter of blood. He hesitates, then steps a bit closer to Leckie. “Hey, Lucky, you… you’ve had nightmares, right?”

“Yes,” Leckie says, drawing the word out and tapping thoughtfully on his cigarette.

“Do you—how do you get rid of them?” he asks.

“You don’t,” Leckie says crisply. “You get drugs, you get your head shrunk, and you get used to ‘em.”

For a minute Chuckler just stares at him. He’s shocked. He knew Leckie had nightmares when they first got back to the States, but that was _before_. That was when Banika was only a few months behind them and battle even closer. When Leckie was still slow to laugh and occasionally said stupid things like “I’m sorry for leaving you on Peleliu.” He has seen Leckie with Vera, with Runner and Hoosier, and he had assumed that the nightmares were long gone.

“You still get them?”

“Yep. Chuckler, I’m not sure if they’re the kind of things that just go away,” he says seriously, and he stubs out his cigarette against the stone wall of the church.

“But—Vera—”

Leckie’s face softens.

“She helps. I’m amending my earlier statement: you get drugs, you get your head shrunk, and you marry the most incredible woman on the planet. Then they get better.”

“I already have drugs, and I’m not going to a shrink,” Chuckler says firmly, because he’s fairly certain that a shrink will somehow trick him into talking about both Kenny and—God forbid—his father. “How does Vera feel about bigamy?”

Leckie laughs. They talk for a little while longer, and then Leckie decides he’s cold and he wants to go into the church. Chuckler says goodbye and starts walking back, his hands in his pockets. He forgot his gloves, so he walks quickly and mulls the last few minutes over in his mind. It upsets him, to know that there really is no miracle cure for this parasite lurking within him. He takes deep breaths and counts to ten before he lets them out, and the way that the little puffs of condensation billow in the darkness is somewhat soothing.

At the same time… there are ways to make them better. There are people who understand. The cold air bites into his skin, and he walks faster and faster until he’s practically running. It feels good. He spills into his mother’s apartment with red cheeks and a stitch in his side, but that night he falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow without fearing what will come.

(He wakes up with a gasp at six a.m. to the sound of screaming bombs and screaming people, grit in his eyes and fire on his legs, and through the smoke he sees Runner and Leckie and Sid and Hoosier sitting in a circle and reading their letters, unaware that there is a battle not five feet from them and that the jungle at their back is rustling ominously. He gets out of bed and walks silently out of the apartment and down the hall to the communal telephone and dials Runner’s number. “Merry Christmas, cobber,” he says, and within seconds he is smiling and his heart has calmed.)

On New Year’s, he goes to Leckie’s sister’s house and gets embarrassingly drunk.

He consoles himself with the fact that Leckie does so as well, and Vera matches them drink for drink until about 11:30, and Leckie’s sister Rebecca is so amused by their antics that she doesn’t stint on refilling their glasses. It’s nearing midnight when Leckie and Chuckler find themselves alone in a corner, and Leckie looks at Vera with dreamy eyes.

“See that girl?” he says. “That’s my wife. I’m married to her. And at midnight, I’m going to kiss her.”

And Chuckler, stupidly, wants to one-up him, so he says “I want to kiss Runner. ‘Cept he’s not here.”

“Fuck, seriously?” Leckie says, mouth agape.

“Yeah.”

“Shit. You really need to get your head shrunk.”

“Why?” Chuckler demands, half-standing and furrowing his eyebrows.

“Because—because—” Leckie stares up at him for a moment, vague worry written on his face, and then he cocks his head and the worry clears. He grins. “Because he’s fucking ugly. Go for Hoosier.”

He collapses in laughter and Chuckler sits down. His stomach feels queasy and he doesn’t bring up the subject again that night, until long past midnight when Leckie calls him a cab and then waits outside  it’s so until it arrives. He hesitates, rubbing his hands together for warmth, and says “Are you actually—do you really want—?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Oh.” He looks uncomfortable; he can’t quite meet Chuckler’s eyes at first, but then he looks up and makes a weak joke. “I would’ve said it was the other way around.”

“It is. It’s—both.”

“Congratulations, then.”

“No. We’re not… it’s complicated.”

Leckie blinks and then nods wisely. He steps forward as the cab pulls up and gives Chuckler a long hug, and pats him on the back when he says goodbye. Chuckler goes home and dials Runner’s number, but nobody picks up. All for the best, he thinks. He’s probably too drunk.

A week later, he is sleeping soundly when his phone starts ringing. It’s usually the other way around, so he’s taken off guard, but he answers it after a few rings and is not surprised to hear Runner’s voice.

“Hey, Bud.”

“Hi. I—I told my parents.”

He is awake.

“Shit. How did it go?”

“My mom cried. My dad—actually took it better. I think he’s glad I’m not a pansy or anything. I don’t think either of them understand that it’s a permanent thing. They’re confused.”

“You didn’t _have_ to tell them.”

“I know. I’m not going to tell my brother. I don’t think he would take it well… but you know, it feels like lying and I don’t like lying, and they were worried about me. My sister already knew, though. I told her when I was a kid.”

Chuckler lets out a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair.

“How do you feel?”

There is a long, long pause. He can hear Runner open and close his mouth several times. Finally, he speaks in a small voice.

“I miss you.”

His heart constricts and Chuckler closes his eyes. He wraps his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees, and takes a deep breath.

“Me too, buddy.” He swallows thickly. “And, listen, that was a really brave thing you did. You know that, right?”

“Come on, Chuckler—”

“I’m serious. You’re braver than I am. I should have told you that that night at the wedding. I was being a coward. If…” _I should be drunk for this_ , he thinks wryly. “Honestly, if you were here right now, I would kiss you.”

His heart is hammering but it’s true. He can just picture Runner sitting beside him with a blanket around his shoulders, his eyes wide in amazement and anxiety at what he’s just done, his dark hair tousled. Chuckler wants to run a hand through that hair and hug Runner close. He wants to kiss him firmly on the lips and then softly on the jaw and the hollow of his neck. Chuckler flexes his fingers to try and keep them from tingling.

“What was that?” Runner finally asks.

“I said I want to kiss you,” he repeats, grip tightening on the phone. Is it arrogant of him to assume that Runner still cares? He’d rejected him only three months ago. But Runner is so eagerly _loyal_ … “I wanted to then, too. I was scared.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Yeah, I—yeah.”

“How far away are you? Like an eight hour drive?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Fine, fine. I just… Jesus, Lew. I love you. You know that, right? I love you.”

He ducks his head, feeling suddenly shy, and murmurs “I love you, too. And if you need it—you can call my mom, you know. Or come meet her, someday. She knows, and she understands.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’ve told her about you—is this too fast? I’m sorry, I think it might be.”

“Chuckler, I honestly do not give a shit.”

He laughs again. Laughter hasn’t been this easy in years. He stretches out on the couch and stares at the ceiling, trying to recreate every detail of Runner’s face from memory as they talk. Some of what he says is stupid and he tries to backtrack, but Runner says equally stupid things so he doesn’t mind so much. It’s late at night and they’re in love; they can be forgiven. Sometime around four a.m. he starts yawning.

“You woke me up,” he says accusingly.

“Sorry.”

“Usually I wake you up. I like that way better.”

Runner chuckles, a low sound that croaks in the back of his throat.

“Then I’ll let you get some sleep. Good night, Chuckler.”

“‘Night.”

He doesn’t really go sleep. He goes to bed and lies down, his mind a rush of thoughts. He lays a hand flat against his chest and feels it rise and fall in steady breaths. His heart pulses and flutters and he pictures dancing moths around the bulbs of streetlamps. Chuckler closes his eyes and hums softly to himself, imagining a deeper voice joining in on the harmony.

He yawns all through work that day, and shuffles home at four o’clock to find Wilbur Conley sitting on his doorstep.

“So I’m an idiot,” Runner says with a shrug. “I made the drive in seven and a half hours.”

Chuckler can only gape and Runner’s smile flickers a little bit.

“Come in,” he says finally. “Christ I can’t believe—you’re an _idiot_.”

“I just said that, dummy.”

The door shuts behind them and it seems unreasonably loud. Immediately Runner steps closer, reaching up to put a hand on Chuckler’s cheek. Instantly, instinctively, Chuckler grasps his wrist. His heart is still hammering and he swallows thickly, trying desperately not to think about the last time he kissed a boy because Runner isn’t him, he _isn’t_ , and this is okay this is just a kiss, it doesn’t matter if he’s sick or if he’s a coward, they can still be friends and there are people who understand that it’s hard to sleep through the night.

“Are you still scared?” Runner asks in a quiet voice.

Mutely, Chuckler nods, and then he leans down kisses him on the lips.


End file.
